Earlier in the week I questioned the interpretation of data regarding men and women in the new economy. This morning, I am going to take a different stance. I'm nothing if not consistent in my inconsistencies. 

This morning, my Aunt Theresa passed away. Her last few years were very tough. She got hit with bone cancer and Parkinson's Disease and lived with pain and frustration about being confined to a wheelchair. When I visited her on Monday, she lay on a cot in her sun room mumbling ma-ma-ma-ma. Her face was shrunken and grey. Her passing is a blessing in many ways. 

Aunt Theresa grew up in the same Italian ghetto in the Bronx as my mother. She's not a relative, but her frequent appearances at family gatherings granted her the title of "aunt." She was always a formidable personality. Never afraid to state her opinions on everything from our clothing to politics to art. She offended my sister by disapproving of the names for her children. She told me that I should continue to live with my parents after college. She didn't like my clothes, so she bought me new ones. She told people what to do, when they should do it, and how often. 

Aunt Theresa never married. In those days, tall, opinionated women didn't have suitors waiting outside their door, especially in the working-class Italian community. She clearly longed for a family of her own. She fussed over us telling us that we were gorgeous. She sewed up matching Sunday frocks for us. Later, she gingerly held our babies and cooed.

She was smart. She went to a selective high school down in Battery Park and later to college, when other Italian girls were becoming secretaries and planning their weddings. She became a public school teacher in the Bronx and stayed even when the Italians moved out and minorities moved in. She had the same high expectations for the children, when other teachers gave up. 

She travelled, making friends wherever she went. With her indomitable spirit, she inserted herself into communities in Argentina, Spain, France, and Italy. When my mom sent me up to her bedroom to look for some paperwork, I found stashes of old letters from these far off friends in her sock drawer. 

She didn't have brothers or sisters. Her parents were recent immigrants, so there was no extended family to take her in during the holidays. She invited herself to our gatherings some times; other times, she went to other homes. 

She rallied against the loneliness that goes along with being single with no extended family. Not only did she have my family for Easter dinner and the friends in Argentina to host her during her annual visits. She also had an assortment of gay men in her life who were amused by her campiness. They accompanied her on her frequent visits to the Guggenheim. She made five course dinners for her gay friends and invited local clergy. 

It was impossible to look at Aunt Theresa and not see shades of myself and my friends. Opinionated, political, cerebral. As independent as she was, she still had such limited choices. Smart girls became teachers, end of story. Smart girls were single, end of story. Smart girls were a punchline, end of story. Today, we have so many more options. 

Feminism today is in disarray. It's thought leaders take on strange, marginal issues. Instead of looking at the alarming poverty rate among women and children, the biggest debates involve 50 Shades of Grey. But today, I have to celebrate the big victories. Smart women have a plethora of career and personal opportunities. During her funeral, I will be thinking about what Aunt Theresa could have achieved if she was born 50 years later.